


Missing

by angstdean



Series: Missing 'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-10-02 07:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17260163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstdean/pseuds/angstdean
Summary: When John Winchester fails to return from a routine hunt, his friends Caleb and Jim spring into action. When the results are not what they expected, it is up to them to forge ahead, and raise his two sons in the face of unthinkable tragedy. Underneath the heartache, hope lies just beneath the surface.





	1. Missing

**_Blue Earth, Minnesota_ **

Patience was an emotion best associated with the mentally _sound._ Right then, pacing in his study, his fingers working harder than they had ever worked in their entire lives as they worked to find the aged address book that was located deep within his desk, that was decidedly  _not_ Jim Murphy, pastor of Blue Earth Community Church, who spent his free time outside the pulpit, hunting the kinds of things that went bump in the night. Most people in his community had no inkling of what their pastor did in secret. He shuddered at the thought of his trusting congregation finding something like that out.

"Come on, John," he murmured, feeling his heart constrict in his chest as his finger ran down the list of names he had ever written over the years. He was searching for the number of their mutual friend, Bobby Singer. He would know what to do. 

Their friend in common, John Winchester, had failed to return home from a hunt that he had been engaged in in Alaska. The novice hunter had been missing for almost a week, with no contact between him or any of his friends. That was bad enough, but when Jim factored in how green John was to the life, it only added to the anxiety that he could feel stirring in his heart and soul. Looking at the clock that was resting on his bookshelf, he hesitated before dialing the number of his friend, Bobby Singer. It was his experience that the hunter did not like to be disturbed unless necessary. 

Leaning against his wooden desk, he ran a hand down his face as he tried to keep himself from feeling the kinds of things that would not help him in searching for his lost friend. It was a part of the hunting life that never was able to stick. He was never able to separate his emotions and do his job effectively. It was that kind of emotion that was making it hard for him to function now. 

 _"Who the_ hell  _is calling at_ -" he heard Bobby rummage around for a clock. " _Midnight?"_

"Bobby?" Jim's voice practically sagged in relief. "It's John." Jim bowed his head, the full reality hitting him in bits and pieces. "He's on a job right now." There was no need for him to elaborate what kind of job this was. "He left the two boys with me. That was about a week ago. I haven't heard from him since." 

His reply was met with silence on the other end of the line. It did not take a genius to know that Bobby was taken aback by the information he was receiving. When he did respond, there was a noticeable shift from what his previous tone was.  _"What was that idiot hunting?"_

Jim shrugged to himself, his hand tightening around the edge of his desk. When he listened, he could hear Dean talking quietly to his brother. It warmed his heart, but it also broke it for what John's two sons had no idea about. "Simple haunting. It was supposed to be in and out." 

 _Supposed to be._ That word had an awful habit of biting the one who used it. 

 _"Poltergeist?"_ Bobby guessed, and Jim could hear him turning some pages of some ancient tome he had in his impressive library. 

Jim shook his head, his mind turning to a thousand different things a minute. "No, just a spirit problem." John had handled those types of cases before, but Jim also knew how frightening certain spirits could be when they were provoked into anger. 

John had not provided exact details on the hunt, no doubt worried that his overprotective friends would want to send him backup, but what he had disclosed to his new friend was that this spirit might have had information on who killed his wife. That was all that John was ever concerned about: Finding the demon responsible for killing his wife. Jim could identify with that drive, having gone through much of the same thing when a demon decided to slaughter his entire family. 

 _"Who else have you called_?" 

Jim shook his head, reaching over to turn on an overhead light when his lamp went out. "No one. I was just about to call Caleb, see if he heard anything from him." He highly doubted that the younger hunter had heard anything from their friend. Not when John hadn't even bothered to check in with the man watching his children. It was a far-off hope, but it was thing he had to go on. 

John's demeanor was erratic, but his two sons, Sam and Dean, were his world, his center. Jim knew that he would never  _not_ call to check on them when they were not under his constant care and supervision. 

 _"Good of an idea as any. Pick his brains, see what he knows. If anything,"_ Bobby said, his sigh echoing over the phone line. 

"I'll call you back."

Jim sighed as he hung up the phone with his friend, running a tired hand over his face as he scrolled through his address book for Caleb's number in Dallas, Texas. 

"Unko Jim?" Five-year-old Dean asked, in typical five-year-old language. Jim had not even noticed his presence. He wondered how much he had picked up. "Where's Daddy?"

Jim sighed, bending down to the child's level, as his soft eyes met with the expressive ones of the child in front of him. "He's out, Dean. He'll be home very soon." He could only hope that he was not telling a complete lie to the child, who had already lost so much in such a short amount of time. 

There was no way he would burden Dean with the knowledge that, in the span of less than year, he would be faced with losing both of his parents. Dean nodded slowly, as though he didn't quite believe what he was being told. Dean had always been highly intelligent. More so than a child his age should be. It was frightening sometimes. Almost as quickly as that look showcased itself in Dean's eyes, it was gone. 

"Sammy's hungry," he stated. 

Jim smiled, deciding to hold off on calling Caleb until Dean's little brother was fed. "We don't want that. Let's go fix him something together. Do you think he's up for some applesauce and carrots?" 

 _"He is,"_ Dean emphasized, as they walked out into the living room where Jim had set up a play area for the boys. It was close enough to his study that he could still see what they were up to when he wasn't directly in front of them. "I'm not." He made a face at the disgusting food, and watched as Jim picked Sam up from his playpen, and carried him into the kitchen, with Dean not far behind. 

Once the (very) messy dinner was finally cleaned up, Jim cleaned around the table and high chair, with Dean's proud assistance, and then ushered both boys upstairs for the nightly routine of brushing their teeth, and then finally getting into their respective beds. 

Thankfully, both boys fell asleep fairly quickly, leaving Jim with more time to call Caleb, and further investigate John's mysterious disappearance. 

Sitting back down in his study, with the door slightly ajar in case one of the boys woke up, he dialed Caleb's number. He hoped the younger hunter could shed some new light on the situation he was suddenly being faced with, and one that he was dangerously close to. 
    
    
    " _Jim_?" Caleb's quiet voice asked, once he had picked up. _"Something wrong?"_
    
    
    "I'm sorry to call you so late," Jim apologized. "But I have a _situation_ here."
    
    
     _What kind of_ situation _?"_ Caleb demanded, shifting to hunter mode once those words had slipped from Jim's mouth.
    
    
    Jim was relieved that, for once since this search started, he was not in it by himself. He completely trusted Caleb's ability to help him figure this out. 
    
    
    "It's John," Jim sighed. "He went looking for a spirit, that was a week ago and I haven't heard anything since."  
    
      
    
    He had recited those exact words so many times that night, that he was sure they would be permanently etched into the corners of his brain forever. 
    
    
    There was a moments pause. _"Where are the boys?"_  
    
      
    
    "They're with me," Jim assured him. 
    
    
    _Listen, where was the hunt?"_  
    
      
    
    "In Alaska."  
    
    
    
    
    _Listen, I'll go and check it out, okay? It's on my way to another job anyway."_  
    
      
    
    Jim sighed in relief, knowing he could always count on Caleb when things were going wrong. Even though the young hunter only had a few years head start,  
    
    he had proved himself to be a capable and skilled hunter, who was eager to learn the tricks of the trade.   
    
    
    
    
    "Thank you so much."
    
    
     _"You know me, I love the game."_ Jim could practically see him rolling his eyes.  
    
      
    
      
    
    
    
    
      
    
    
    
      
    
      
    
      
    
    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Searching

Owning and operating his own weapons dealing business in the heart of Dallas, afforded Caleb Rivers the chance to lead a somewhat  _truthful_ life, despite the less than truthful part of his life that included hunting the kinds of things no one had any idea really existed. It was nice to be able to provide a legit license to police when they would, inevitably, knock on his door. He had gotten used to the questions, and the inquiring stares when he mentioned his business to police. 

Just as long as they never knew the real story. The real reason why he had gotten into the kind of work he was into now. They would either think he was stark raving crazy and throw him into the nearest mental hospital, or haul him to jail. Either one was undesirable. 

After losing his wife and unborn child to a demon attack some years ago, he had devoted his entire life to finding and killing not only the monster that killed his wife, but also any and all things that people could only dream about. It was as much a coping method as it was his way of processing the grief that threatened to strangle him. Once he got over his initial shock and horror at finding out the truth, it was all systems go. After getting his start with Bill and Ellen Harvelle, he felt confident enough to start taking on his own cases. 

Meeting John Winchester and his boys only a few months previously, was the icing on the cake that he never realized he wanted. It was refreshing to hear the tiny pitter-patter of little feet as they ran and tripped around shop, laughing and playing to their heart's content. It did not take a genius to figure out that it was not often the boys were afforded this luxury. Especially Dean, who seemed much wiser beyond his years, and so very protective over his little brother. 

While he didn't agree with involving little boys in an often unpredictable (and dangerous) world such as the one he and their father occupied, he had no real place to argue and he knew it. If it was up to him, the boys would not be left alone to fend for themselves in seedy motel rooms, or being dragged along to the next big 'monster of the week', but he also knew what his input might mean for his continued involvement in the boys' lives. When he got the call from Jim that John was missing, he wasn't entirely surprised, and he wasn't surprised that John would jump at the chance to take a hunt that was both dangerous and far away from home.

But Alaska was close to another job he had lined up. It wasn't a terrible stretch to make the short jaunt to the small town that John had rolled into the previous week. He was curious, and also slightly scared of what he might come up with. When a hunter went missing, it was not too often they came back alive. With that track record in mind, he drove through the sleepy town until he found the location of a reasonably priced motel. The blinking neon sign announced a vacancy with the 'v' and 'c' highlighted. 

"Thank you so much have a good day," he said, as hung up with the motel that John had checked into. A few well-placed words had gotten him John's room number, and the check-in date for when John had arrived.

His next order of business was making the short trek to the motel, and scouring the place for evidence. There was nothing  _too_ suspicious about the room at first glance. Just the dull odor of a fast food burger that was half-eaten, and the wall of investigative research that John had on his wall. Looking toward the windows and doors, Caleb noted the protective salt line. It was what was lying underneath the nightstand table that stood out like a sore thumb. 

John's journal. 

Caleb knew better than anyone that John never went anywhere without the journal. It was his one place to openly express his grief, and also catalog the various things he had hunted. A flip through the journal revealed that he had only made a few sparse entries. Seating himself on the unmade bed, he hoped that John had written  _something_ about this newest hunting trip, but so far there was nothing but frustratingly blank pages. 

"Damn it," Caleb murmured, sorely tempted to throw the thing at the wall. Stuffing the journal in his bag, he looked around the room once more, before leaving. 

* * *

"Unko Jim?" Dean asked, after lunch had been served. "Is Daddy lost?" His wide hazel eyes were downcast as he voiced that question. It broke Jim's heart. 

"No, Dean," he reassured him, even though he was almost certain Dean could see right through his lie. 

"That's not how Daddy feeds Sammy," Dean stated, as he watched Jim attempt to feed his baby brother, who was not amused at the pastor's pathetic attempt. 

"Oh, really? How does your Daddy do it?" Jim was willing to do anything to get Dean's mind off the depressing realizing that his father was not back yet. 

Dean proudly took the airplane-shaped spoon from Jim, and expertly imitated airplane noises while he steered the spoon into Sam's open mouth. Grinning victorious, Dean gladly handed the spoon back to Jim, confident that he had taught the pastor something about his brother that he hadn't known. 

"Do you want to finish feeding him?" Jim asked, noting how attentive Dean was to his brother, and wanting to foster that as much as possible. 

"Sure!"

Dean carefully accepted the goldfish-shaped kid bowl from Jim, handling it as though it was made of the finest China. Standing back and watching Dean interact with Sam, was precious. It didn't matter what the situation was, Dean was so patient and kind to Sam that it made him wonder how Dean managed to keep it all together. 

"You did a good job feeding Sam," Jim said, looking at Dean as he helped Sam down from his highchair. 

"I can tell Daddy that I helped feed Sammy!" 

Jim nodded. "That's right." 

With a quiet sigh, he put the boys in the living room with a cartoon movie, and went out into the kitchen where he could still see the boys, but also conduct his part of the search for their father without them knowing. His first order of business was to call Caleb and get an update on where he was, and what his next move was. Finding his motel room wasn't hard, and neither was guessing the name under which Caleb had checked in under. 

"Caleb? What's going on?" 

Caleb sighed softly. " _I found that journal he uses in his room. When I left...I noticed some blood stains on the cement outside."_

Jim's heart sank like a boulder into his stomach, as he leaned against the counter for support. "Was it significant?"

_"It was enough for me to notice it. I'm going to see the people he was helping right now, figure out when he last communicated with them."_

Jim nodded. "Alright, let me know."

Jim got off the phone more emotionally exhausted than when he had gotten on. The search for John had taken a turn that he hadn't been prepared to handle at all. It was terrifying to imagine the evils of this world taking yet another life. 

Looking out at the boys as they watched their movie, he felt a desperate pain circulate in his chest as he gazed at them, as they unknowingly faced the prospect of losing another parent in less than a year. 

It was too cruel for him to even contemplate. He prayed their little hearts would be spared the pain of such a loss. 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Over the three or four years that Caleb had been actively in the hunting lifestyle, he had learned to perfect his interview skills, and how he approached different people with his questions. More importantly, he had to learn how to maneuver around questions that might expose the truth to some poor, unsuspecting individual.

Walking up the perfectly manicured walk of the couple John had talked to about his hunt, Caleb knew this would be an interview quite unlike any he had ever had before.

Ringing the silver-circular doorbell, he waited patiently for any signs of human life beyond the mansion-type home. When light footsteps finally met his highly trained ears, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief when a middle-aged woman answered the door.

"Hello. Can I help you?"

"Yes. I'm Caleb Hatch," he recited, using his familiar alias. "I was wondering if you could tell me if one of my friends visited you recently?"

The woman looked confused, before the hospitality she had clearly been taught, overcame her. "Well, of course. Come on in, and I can see what I can do for you."

"Thank you."

Caleb stepped into the impressive foyer of the home, petting her hyper dogs, before she led him into a sitting room that was situated directly off the foyer.

"So you were wondering about one of your friends?" She inquired, as she offered him coffee, which he accepted.

"Yeah. He was around probably a few days ago, maybe asking some questions about your home?" If it was a poltergeist, they typically liked to make their homes in other's homes, somewhere the beast had personal history.

"Oh, yes! John Withgow. Such a nice man. We called a repair man because we were hearing some noises in our upstairs attic, and he showed up."

"Oh. Okay." Caleb bent over, writing down the crucial information in his own hunting journal. "Did he get rid of the noises that were up in your attic?"

"We assume he did," the woman shrugged. "He didn't want us in the house while he was taking care of it, so we left. When we came back, everything was better."

Caleb nodded slowly. "Okay. Have you heard anything from him since then?"

The woman shook her head, unaware of how crucial that shake of her head was. "No. Is something wrong?"

"No," Caleb assured her. "Of course not. When was the last time you heard from him?"

"About four days ago, right before he came over here."

Caleb thanked her for her time, and then left. He had gotten all the information he could have gotten out of her, and it was crucial, too. Four days was a long time. Any number of things could have happened to him in that span of time, and he knew it.

The poltergeist could have injured him, he could be lying injured somewhere. The monster could have, worst case scenario, killed him and his body was lying in some ditch somewhere.

Calling all the local hospitals seemed like the next best case option, as he returned to his motel room, picked up the phone book the motel had provided, and began making his calls.

There were only five hospitals in the area, and of course no one had heard of a John Withgow, or admitted anyone matching John's description. After hanging up with the fifth and last hospital with no luck, he ran his hand over his face in frustration, as he thought about his next course of action.

Picking up the motel phone again, he dialed Jim's number in Minnesota. He knew he couldn't make any other decisions without cluing Jim in on the status for the search.

"Caleb?" 

"Hey, Jim."

"Have you found anything yet?" 

"I talked to the people that he was helping with the poltergeist, and they said that they last spoke with him about four days ago."

"What about the hospitals?" 

"I called all of them. They haven't heard anything, or admitted anyone with his description."

There was a long silence at the other end of the phone. Caleb guessed it was due in large part to Jim contemplating their next plan of action.

"What about the county morgues?"

"I haven't wanted to even look there. It seems too soon, but I'm not sure."

"We've run out of options," Jim said. "Call me and let me know what happens." 

Caleb nodded. "Alright."

After he hung up with Jim, he propped open John's journal on his lap and began further examining it for evidence that he had missed on the first read through.

"Cattle deaths in Wyoming, Alaska," Caleb read under his breath, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Electrical storms through Wisconsin..."

While Caleb knew those signs to sometimes be demonically related, he had no idea if it was supposed to signal the demon that killed John's wife, or not.

He had to believe it was, and John had bitten off more than he could chew.

With a heavy sigh, he unwillingly pulled the heavy motel-issued phonebook on his lap, and began searching out the county morgues for new information.

"Hi," he said, speaking heavily into the phone, as the helper came on the line. "I was wondering if you could give me some information about a deceased individual you might have there."

He listened for further instructions, and then provided the identification details for John in order to possibly ID him. The minutes that dragged on seemed to last like the longest clock in the world, as he waited for the person to come back on.

"Sir, we do have a deceased male that matches the description that you just gave to us. If you would be willing to come down to our office, and formally ID the body, that would be appreciated." 

Caleb sucked back the bile that had suddenly formulated in his mouth, and sighed heavily. "Okay," he finally said, once he was sure his vocal cords worked. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

His first thought once he had gotten off the phone, was to call Jim and inform him of the latest developments, but he didn't want to cause him undue worry before he had any positive identification of the body.

Getting up from the bed, he shrugged on his coat, grabbed his car keys, and went to ID the body of his possibly deceased friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter has been such a long time coming! If the format is messed up, I apologize in advance! I'm copying and pasting large chunks of the story from my word processor, and for some reason, A03, doesn't like that?


	4. Chapter 4

In the years since Caleb had started hunting, he had been forced to make many different trips to the medical examiner's office to investigate cases, and ID mangled corpses that demons had torn apart. None of those trips were particularly pleasing, and always left him with a bitter taste in his mouth, and a burning hatred for the monsters that did the act. That had not changed over time, and if anything, examining too many bodies had left him with a renewed sense of urgency in finding these monsters. Through all those cases, though, he had been able to maintain a professional distance from the victims. 

But this...this was different. This was  _personal_. It had to do with a good friend of his, and the possibility of that friend being unable to care for his children, anymore. It was never easy having to ID a body, but Caleb thought that he might collapse from the sheer mental exhaustion of it all. It was taxing to have to go through what he was going through, and know there stood a good chance of delivering bad news to Jim later on. Lifting his eyes when the huge building came into his view, he parked in the nearest parking space, and stepped out into the unseasonably cool day. Bringing his coat closer to his body, he braved the elements, and strode inside. 

Walking into the cold and impersonal front reception area, he paced the room, waiting for the technician to come and take him back to the viewing rooms. It was an unforgivable task, and he cowardly wished that anyone could do it but him. Trusting himself to momentarily stop the pacing speed he had adopted, he knew right away that it was a mistake to forgo his only method of distraction. All around him, were the faces of people who were waiting to identify the corpses of their loved ones. There were couples consoling each other, eyes red-rimmed from crying. And then there was a girl, probably only a teenager, who was alternating between twisting a ring around her finger, and biting her nails. These people all had lost someone, and Caleb felt a sick sense of kinship with them. 

The hard and uncomfortable chairs offered him no reprieve from the sucker punch in his gut, and he did not even bother sitting down. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he looked toward the door that led to the back. It was still, but he could see a man in plain white scrubs begin his seemingly  _slow_ walk toward the waiting room. In that moment, Caleb did not know whether to hope it was for him, or for someone else in the room. Taking a deep breath, he scrambled his hands around each other, and avoided looking at any of the folks in the room who were undoubtedly experiencing the same inner turmoil. 

Right when the door opened and the man stepped out, he knew it was for him. The man, who no doubt had escorted many loved ones back to those cold rooms, zeroed in on him the moment he came out. Standing rigidly to meet him, Caleb was well aware of the eyes of those in the room. They knew that he was about to be delivered bad news, and that did not help him to feel any better about the situation he found himself in. 

"Are you Caleb Hatch?" 

Caleb nodded; he ignored the comforting tone of the man's voice, and the way his eyes softened when he gazed at him. "Yes." He was in no mood for phony pleasantries. 

The man, Dr. Allen, nodded, he seemed to have developed a unique intuition that let him know when someone was not in the mood for discussion. He gestured toward the back room that Caleb would have given anything to not follow him through. "If you could just follow me, sir..."

"I have to warn you," he added, as they stopped outside the door marked "private." "The body was found in an extremely traumatic state."

Caleb swallowed back the tennis-ball sized lump in his throat and nodded. "Okay." It wouldn't make a difference to him-he had to know for sure, before he went back to Blue Earth and shattered what remained of those boys' world.

The frigid cold temperature that assaulted his senses when he walked into the room, was like being doused in a bucket of ice, but he ignored it as he watched the man pull out the tray holding the body.

For a split second, he hesitated. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know who was on there, he wasn't sure if he wanted to face what it would mean if his worst fears were realized.

Sucking in a breath, he squared his shoulders and walked foreword. The sight that met his eyes, wasn't completely unexpected, but it still momentarily stole his breath, as he stared down at John's wide, unseeing eyes, the light gone from them. Beyond that, his body had been obviously mangled by whatever he had been hunting. His eyes were drawn to John's torso, which bore the brunt of what happened to him. Several deep cuts criss-crossed in different sections, before coming to meet. His hair had dried blood on it, and his hands were adorned with defensive wounds. 

"Sir?" Caleb had almost forgotten someone else was in the room with him. 

Caleb nodded by some superhuman effort, even though most of his body had been thrown into a complete state of shock. "Yes. It's him."

* * *

As part of his training as a pastor, Jim had been trained that emotions, even negative ones like hatred and frustration, were all natural, as long as he handled them appropriately. Right then, glancing at the farm-shaped clock in his kitchen, he was getting frustrated.

It had been almost a day since he had last heard from Caleb. The last he knew, he was going to the morgue to check out a potential victim that matched John's description, but that was the last he knew.

Not that he had any serious time to mull over these concerns. The boys demanded almost all of his time, especially Sam. Dean, for the most part, could feed himself with Jim's careful supervision, of course, and even helped with Sammy.

But Sam was another matter. At barely a year old, he still couldn't walk quite yet, and had to be changed and fed constantly. Thankfully, he was a quiet baby, never really making a fuss unless he felt alone, or was hungry or needed a change.

"That's his wet cry," Dean stated simply, his chin resting on his arm, as he glanced over at his baby brother, who was making the mew-like sounds.   


Jim turned and smiled at him. Even though every nerve he had was on edge, there was no way he would let Dean in on that, no way he would let the child know that something might be wrong with his daddy. "Is that so?"   


"Mommy taught me," he stated, his sweet hazel eyes downcast at the thought of his mother, a person that was there one night, and gone only a few hours later. It had to be so confusing to the five-year-old.   


Jim smiled, considering his words somewhat carefully. "She taught you well."

Dean hardly ever smiled-he reserved that megawatt smile for when his father or brother were in his immediate company. "Mommy teached me a lot," he said, using typical five-year-old grammar. It was cute, and also touching to see how proud he was of being his Mommy's helper, and now Jim's.   


Jim mulled over the unique position he was in. Dean was always willing to help with his little brother, and Jim knew he could certainly use the help. "Do you want to be my helper?" His eyes got serious, playfully serious. "It's a very serious position, and I only need someone who  _really_ knows Sam."

Not to his surprise, Dean (literally) jumped at the chance. "I can do it!" 

Jim shook his head, ruffling the boy's hair. "I figured as much."

Jim was anxious to get the boys to bed and finish their nightly routines. Dean had been asking at intervals where his Dad was and when he would be back. It had been hard not being able to provide a definitive answer. In truth, there was nothing he could say that would not cause the child to worry. Dean was too smart for his age, and had already picked up the fact that his daddy had been gone for much too long.   


"Come on, Caleb," he muttered to himself in annoyance.   


The fact he hadn't heard from him, didn't worry him as much as it irritated him. He knew that Caleb was perfectly fine, but it irked him that he wasn't getting any feedback.   


Going back downstairs after making sure both boys were fast asleep, he settled himself on the sofa. When the distant sounds of a rumbling car or truck engine caught his attention, he strained his eyes to see if the sound was approaching his driveway.   


It was. 

Sighing in relief, he wrenched himself up from the sofa, and went to the front door to meet whoever had decided to drop in on him on such short notice.   


"Caleb?" He started in surprise, when he saw the younger hunter walking up the path to his house. "I didn't-"   


"I didn't think we should talk about this over the phone," Caleb interjected, brushing past Jim as he walked into the house. 

"Talk about what? _John_?"   


Caleb nodded, his normally bright brown eyes, unusually red and misty as he turned to face his friend. "John is dead."

 

  
  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now the truth has come out. John, the last living parent of Sam and Dean, has died. The guys face a challenge in not only telling Dean about his father's death, but also figuring out how they're going to take care of them going on.


	5. Chapter 5

 
    
    
    When Dean woke up the next morning, the guys pretended, for his benefit, that everything was normal, as they poured him his favorite sugary cereal, and made him a glass of orange juice, despite his protests.
    
    "Orange juice is yucky!" Dean spat, as he gulped down the drink under Caleb's careful supervision.
    
    "It's also really good for you," Caleb pointed out. "Just like your wheaties are."
    
    "They're also lucky," Dean pouted. "I like meat!"
    
    Bobby chuckled, shaking his head. "You're a good eater, Dean."
    
    "Like Daddy!"
    
    Dean was oblivious to the looks the three men gave each other at his seemingly innocent comment. They hadn't yet figured out what they would tell him, but they knew it had to come sooner rather than later.
    
    "Yeah," Jim said quietly. "Your Daddy would be proud of you."
    
    "When is he coming home? I miss him," Dean said, averting his gaze from the looks of the three men.
    
    "Dean," Bobby began, running his hand under his jaw. "We have to tell you something about your daddy."
    
    Dean's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as he looked from one to the other, until he finally focused on Bobby again. "Did Daddy get hurt?"
    
    Jim shook his head, not willing to go into that kind of detail with a five-year-old. "Your Mommy, she missed him very much, and she wanted to see him."
    
    Dean swallowed forcibly. "Daddy went to be with the angels?"
    
    "He did," Bobby said quietly. "He went to be with your Mommy in Heaven."
    
    "Daddy should be with Mommy," Dean said bravely. "He misses her lots."
    
    Jim was in awe of Dean's bravery and his selflessness in terms of his father and his mother. "He did, Dean, but he loved you and Sammy more than anything."
    
    "Mommy's an angel, right?"
    
    Bobby nodded. "I guess she is."
    
    "Because Daddy always used to call Mommy his angel, now she can be his angel again?"
    
    "She can," Jim softly affirmed.
    
    Dean's soft hazel eyes shifted over to his baby brother who was happily eating his rice cereal, completely unaware of the tragedy that had befallen his young life once again, and the complete state of turmoil his brother had been thrust into again.
    
    "Sammy won't know Mommy or Daddy," Dean said sadly.
    
    "He'll know them from us," Jim said. "He'll know only the best memories of them."
    
    Dean shrugged, as he picked up his spoon and started eating again.
    
    "You can also write down your memories of them," Bobby suggested. "It might give you something to do, and give him something to keep later on."
    
    Dean nodded, his hazel eyes unexpectedly filling with tears, before Caleb smoothly picked Dean up and brought him onto his lap.
    
    "It's okay, bud," Caleb said quietly, rubbing his back in soft, soothing circles.
    
    Dean didn't say anything as he fisted Caleb's shirt in his small hand, only wept as he stained the shirt with his tears.
    
    "Dean?" Jim began, after Dean had crawled down from Caleb's lap. "Are you okay?"
    
    Dean didn't answer. He bent down to play with Sam, who was engrossed in the toy blocks he had been given. "Sammy can't make a castle," he said, looking up at the three adults in the room.
    
    "He'll learn," Bobby reassured him. "Just give him some time, and one of your handy lessons."
    
    "Okay."
    
    Dean remained quiet the duration of the afternoon. He only spoke when spoken to, or when he helped Sam complete a task that he needed help with. The guys figured that if they involved Dean as much as they could in tasks, especially ones that helped his brother, it would help Dean out of the shell he had tucked himself into.
    
    "What about school?" Caleb asked. "Do we feel comfortable sending him to preschool?"
    
    "I think we should cross that bridge when we come to it," Jim said tiredly. It had been a long day. "Are you going back to Dallas?"
    
    "Just to pack up and then I'm heading back here."
    
    Jim nodded. "Okay. Bobby's going to stay here until you get back."
    
    "Okay."
    
    Jim noticed a change in Dean when Dean hugged Caleb goodbye. It was as if Dean was afraid of getting close to Caleb for fear of losing him. It was heartbreaking to watch the change in him begin already.
    
    "Caleb's going to be back, Dean," Jim assured him, as he tucked him into his bed.
    
    "How do you know?" Dean challenged.
    
    "Because I do," Jim said firmly, looking over at the crib on the other side of the room where Sam was already dozing peacefully.
    
    One thing he knew they had to do was make it so the boys could have separate rooms when the dust had settled and things were calmer for them all.
    
    "Goodnight," Dean said quietly, rubbing his eye with his fist.
    
    "Goodnight, Dean."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this chapter is more than a month late! This chapter is entirely in its original form-no edits or rewrites.


	6. Chapter 6

Grief through the eyes of a child was a strangely fascinating, but tragic thing to bear witness to. Some asked questions, that was normal for a curious, naturally eager child, some were silent, asking little, but observing and absorbing everything that went on around them.

Dean was one of the quiet ones. He rarely asked questions, instead he contented himself with sitting back and watching as the grownups conversed amongst each other. It was heartbreaking to watch a normally outgoing kid, retreat further back into the protective shell he had placed around himself when his mother had first died. It was hard to watch him regress _backwards_.   


"Why did Daddy die?" Dean asked one afternoon, a few weeks after John had died. He and Jim had finished playing with Sammy, and were cleaning up the markers and crayons he had littered all over the floor.   


Jim stared at him, never recalling saying in those exact words that John had  _ died _ . He thought that kind of definition would be far too morbid for a child to understand, but Dean, as per usual, was way too smart for his age.

"Well, Dean, how did you-"

"I  _ know  _ what that means," Dean said with an uncharacteristic (for his age) scoff. "I watch TV. The same thing happened to Mommy," he stated matter-of-factly, as if Jim didn't understand that.

"It...did," Jim announced slowly, choosing his words carefully. "You know, Dean, your Daddy helped people."

Dean's eyes widened in barely contained awe as he leaned closer, hanging on to Jim's every word now. "He  _ did _ ?"

"And while he was helping someone, the angels decided that he was far too good, and that he needed to be with them, with your Mommy."

"And grandma and grandpa," Dean prompted him.

Jim nodded, a small smile playing across the corners of his mouth. "That's right."

Dean was quiet for several minutes as he processed the plethora of information he had just received. For many children, it would be too much, but for his age, Dean had seen way much more than he should have. It had prepared him for anything else he might face in this life. 

It had cruelly matured him beyond his five short years, but it had also gifted him with a brain that most children didn't have. It was both a blessing and a curse. 

After that, Jim, as well as Caleb and Bobby, noticed a marked difference in the five-year-old, as he played with Sam with much more gusto, and seemed actively interested in the things that were going on around him, especially when it came to school and the renovation of one of the upstairs guest rooms that was being transformed into a bedroom for he and Sam.

"Batman is the best," Dean stated one afternoon, as he walked into the freshly painted bedroom, wrinkling his nose in distaste of the smell, as he looked up at Caleb as he painted the wall.

"Indeed he is," Caleb agreed. "Not like those puny other superheroes."

Dean shook his head. "Nah. Batman would kick the other's butts!"

Caleb stifled a laugh as he put down the brush in the tray. "Are you excited to go see Uncle Bobby tomorrow?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

It had been agreed that the boys would spend the weekend with Bobby since both Caleb and Jim had work and hunting commitments up on the plate at the same time.

"Are you going to play hide and seek with the cars?"

"Yeah. I have to teach Sammy."

"You do that."

Dean was an excellent tutor for his little brother, who was becoming more and more active every single day. Watching Dean and Sam develop their bond, was one of the few highlights in their world. 

Dean had been so depressed that it was nice seeing an actual smile grace his face at the thought of going to Bobby's, and teaching his brother something new.

With a grin, Caleb fingered a small bit of blue paint and dabbed it on Dean's nose. "Now you look like Batman."

"I do," Dean smiled. "If I had a cape, I could be just like him."

Caleb shrugged in amusement. "You look pretty authentic to me."

"That's because you're supposed to say that," Dean reminded him.

The next day was rough. Caleb and Jim both had to wake up early in order to get the boys up and ready for the long journey ahead of them. Sam slept through most of the preparations, while Dean lingered around the guys, sleepily observing their work as he hovered around Caleb or Jim's legs.

"Okay, Dean," Caleb said, knowing how much Dean needed to feel like he had a job. "Can you take this cooler out to the car for me?"

"You bet!"

Caleb handed him the light cooler, before bringing some more snacks from the road out and placing them in the front seat. He had no idea that taking two boys on a several hour car journey would be so stressful logistics wise.

It almost made him rethink their plan.

Almost.

The eager looks from both boys, kept him on the original plan as he loaded more gear into the car before getting into the driver's seat.

"What kind of songs should we listen to?"

"AC/DC," Dean said proudly. "They're the best."

"Okay," Jim agreed hesitantly, clearly not used to listening to that kind of music, especially rock music.

"Sure you'll be forgiven?" Caleb asked mock seriously as he put in the tape.

Jim ignored him as the heavy bass and drums from the songs filled the car. Dean was in his element as he rocked in his car seat to the beat of the music.

Before too long (and to their relief), both boys fell asleep soon after lunch.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Deep breath in. Deep breath out. This project has been years in the making. I originally published it on Fanfiction.net back in the day, and was overwhelmed with the results of this love affair. Writing these series of stories has been the greatest treasure of my life, and definitely THE best writing experience ever. For one reason or another, this entire 'verse got deleted, and I thought I was done. Then, by a literal miracle, I discovered the entire original series on a site that collects FF works. So here it is! 
> 
> My plan is to make minor adjustments to the stories, and publish them as is. Who knows? Maybe once I'm through, I'll have enough inspiration to add to the series. I definitely have the ideas for it...but it's my stupid writing block that keeps getting in the way. 
> 
> Kudos, comments, etc, are appreciated!


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